My father walked down the steps to greet me. But it wasn't him, I knew it couldn't be – he was dead. I killed him.
We lived about 400 years ago, I was literally daddy's little girl. I was the youngest, but he loved me most. I had to sleep with the servants in order to escape his love. I know now, if I knew this then I wouldn't be here. He always used to buy me dresses and flowers for my hair; he liked to show me off. But that was it, I just thought my father loved me, when he snuck into my bedroom at night, I just thought father loved me.
I was a sickly child, everyone said I took after my mother, after she gave birth to me she always looked like death. Her beauty drained away into a pallid shell, until eventually she just faded away. But my father always looked after me, he always cared – so I thought.
One day my eldest sister threw hot tea on my new lacy white dress. It burned, I remember it searing through to my soft white belly beneath. I ran, down the street to the village below, where I tripped over in the mud. That's when I met the blonde stranger, the only person from my era outside our house that I ever met. I knew he was usually a guest of Gabriel's house, another noble family that lived a half an hour carriage away. He picked me up and in return I gave him a flower from where we stood. Father came soon enough though, and I was never allowed to leave the house again.
I grew up slowly, the years dragging out as I stayed cooped up in here. I was daddy's little skeleton in the closet. One day I lost it, I was 21 and sick of the rumours, the people thought there was incest in our house, I wasn't married, I would never kiss a boy and I would never have kids.
I embodied my rage in flame; I waited till night and threw the oil lamps and candles into daddy's forbidden cabinet. It didn't burst into flames like I thought, but the wood burned nicely. Stupid me... thinking it was a liquor cabinet. I watched the flames, when they began to lap up my fragile flesh I didn't scream, I just passed out. Inside, I as cold and when I woke up, so was my outside.
Father never aged, father never got ill, father always made the servant swoon when he kissed their necks. No, nosferatu were no longer part of the story books and now I was part of their ranks. That bastard took everything from me that made me human, made me a woman and froze it in time. But he didn't count on my strength of new-born death. His death was swift and that pained me, the fact that it was swift unlike the death he had caused me.
When I had left Lazarus I had time to think on all of this and one thing kept shocking me. One thing that I thought even Lazarus didn't know was quite who that stranger was I met that day. Hmm.
I calmly walked around the house, ignoring my father's doting voice. It was if he had forgotten everything. I wasn't having that, this ends here. I knocked the oil lamps over again, but this time I stood outside while it burned, well, more precisely I sat on Lazarus' porch. I was amused, it burnt twice as fast and when it was done it was a completely different house. Magicians work here, something unnatural.
I could hear the hunter and Lazarus talking from here, he wouldn't kill him if he wasn't evil, if he hadn't killed anyone in cold blood. Oh dear. A werewolf is quite easy to keep under control when it comes to humans, once you've learnt it, you're good. But no, I'm a vampire, I eat humans, it's easy to let go and let him bleed a little more to satisfy my hunger. Luckily he was booted up with silver, that doesn't bother me. I grinned. Oh fun.
Mind, in this state any hunter could kill me. I’m so hungry... There was no one here I could bite either and heck, civilisation could be for miles... eugh. I held my head. I need blood, I stood, my nose burning with the scents of everyone wandering around. Hunter... no, bad choice... Lazarus, he’s not a choice anymore. But, something else, there was a dead smell but no less appealing. I followed it back to the house where I found a fridge full of blood bags. I tore one open, letting the whole contents slide down my throat not a single drop wasted. I missed it, tasted like A+ alcoholic. Not the best, but blood is blood when your stomach is eating itself – literally. This house was different; it was full of vampire paraphernalia: paintings, books, games, films, music and statues. It was all gothic inside and dark, blocking out all light. A Fridge full of blood was accompanied by a large bed in the basement that lowered into the ground, this was amazing.
I looked through the wardrobe, picking out a pair of large black boots with thick soles and buckles up to your knees, Black skinnies tucked into my boots and a black hoodie with a giant rose on the back in stitching. I pulled up the hood and made my way to Lazarus’ doorstep where I waited for the drunk to get his ass home. I wouldn’t have put it passed him if he had slept with the hunter.
I heard his fumbling footsteps at about half ten in the morning. My hood was up and I couldn’t see him, if I had looked up I would just burn. “Good morning.”
“No it’s not,” his voice was pained and I almost laughed, all that work was for nothing.
“Someone’s been drinking again,” I stated, tearing a whole in the ‘straw’ of an O- blood bag and drinking it gleefully. He pushed passed me, letting himself in with a grunt. I stood and followed him into the living room where he flopped on the couch. “I’ve seen the house, I want an answer.”
“Answer about what?”
“What do you want me to do?”
He whined, “can this wait till my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode?” I got up to rifle through the cupboards for some coffee. I found some, in a jar pushed to the back and boiled some water.
“Here,” I passed him the cup and he mumbled a thanks. “I still have your song you know,” I took it out of my pocket and unfolded it, placing it on the table for him. “You were a great composer.” His eyes were fixed on it and I was silent, sinking into my chair and further away from Lazarus. He took a sip of his coffee and I sung a little to myself, I knew it; I had no qualms that I knew it. I felt like I was gonna apologise, but, I didn’t think it would help. We were beyond sorry’s now; I don’t know what I could do. I would just, wait this out till we could talk.